


Almost Inevitable

by dustyfluorescent



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff, Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-16
Updated: 2017-06-16
Packaged: 2018-11-14 16:10:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11211546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dustyfluorescent/pseuds/dustyfluorescent
Summary: Feuilly is not sure if it's normal for casual fuckbuddies to kiss and cuddle this much, but frankly, he doesn't care - Baz loves kisses and cuddles more than anything, and far be it from Feuilly to get in the way of Bahorel's happiness.





	Almost Inevitable

**Author's Note:**

  * For [milou407](https://archiveofourown.org/users/milou407/gifts).



> Because I wanted to write a friends-with-benefits scenario about my favourite boys, but this time without angst! With compliments to my darling milou407, the best fake boyfriend I've ever had and my very own personal professional orange. Since this is the first fic I've ever written about these losers and a lot of the love I have for them we have built together, I want to gift this to you. Hope it tickles you!

Feuilly is not sure if it's normal for casual fuckbuddies to kiss and cuddle this much, but frankly, he doesn't care - Baz loves kisses and cuddles more than anything, and far be it from Feuilly to get in the way of Bahorel's happiness. 

I mean, it's pretty nice. Really nice, even. Bahorel is fun, one of his best friends, definitely hot, and great in sack. It’s chill, it’s easy, it’s lovely - what else is there to say. And if someone thinks it’s weird that two bros not only fuck but also kiss and snuggle pretty generously… Well, Bahorel has never been the type to give a shit about what other people think, and Feuilly is determined to learn from him.

Feuilly is determined to learn great many things from Bahorel, come to think of it.

Ahem.

It all started in a way that seemed almost inevitable. On a night of drinking beer and talking shit and playing Street Fighter at Bahorel’s place, they fell into it almost by accident. Feuilly can’t remember who started it, but he knows neither tried to stop it, and he’s never going to regret that, not for a day. 

It was then like it is now - easy, fun, hot as fuck. Baz had won a round and whooped and launched himself at Feuilly with a bright grin, and somehow the distance between them had disappeared and the situation had quickly evolved into making out. Feuilly wasn’t drunk, just buzzing a bit after a few beers in that kind of lovely way where things can be just so incredibly exciting and everything feels amazing. Or maybe it was just Bahorel, with his wandering hands and giddy excitement and soft gasps, that made Feuilly feel so breathless with joy. But something did, and the impromptu makeout session had evolved into leisurely handjobs as they’d held onto each other for dear life, kissing like it was the last thing they’d ever do.

Afterwards, Bahorel’s breathless laugh and soft kisses had made Feuilly giddy with joy, and he’d drank his next beer in contemplative silence, leaning against Baz, arm wrapped around his shoulders and breathing in the scent of his hair as Bahorel switched from Street Fighter to Say Yes To The Dress, quietly swearing at the overbearing mothers and the brides he thought were making the wrong decisions.

What a boy. So gorgeous, and so easy to be with. Feuilly, unexpectedly tired and sticky and kinda needing to pee, had just stayed there, holding him, focusing less on the wedding gowns and more on Bahorel’s steady breathing and soft laugh and familiar scent.

It moves on from there, easily and naturally and without any fuss. It just becomes another thing they do, like their regular Street Fighter tournaments or hanging out with Enjolras’ entourage at the Musain. Nothing else changes, it just turns a tad more physical. And that really isn’t so strange, after all, not with a friend like Bahorel who loves with his everything. Bahorel has always been a physical person, and Feuilly supposes that for him, sex is just another way to feel close to someone. Feuilly is pretty sure his isn’t the only dick in their friend group Bahorel has sucked, and he doesn’t even mind - it really is just a way for Baz to show his love and appreciation, and he can respect that. If he maybe thinks that it would be rather nicer to have Bahorel all to himself, he determinedly pushes that thought away - he has no right to Baz, that’s not how friendships work. He’s happy. They both are. It’s fine. 

And then, after the first time he fucks Bahorel, Feuilly doesn’t bother wasting a lot of time worrying about keeping Baz to himself at all. They fall into bed breathless and giddy, Baz presses his nose against Feu’s neck and mumbles, “You’re the best sex I ever had. You have ruined everyone else for me, you dick.” Feuilly just swats at Baz and kisses his hair and tugs him a bit closer, but he can’t really stop thinking about Bahorel’s words. They make him feel giddy and all-powerful. He didn’t think he was all that good at sex, and Baz has definitely had his fair share of experiences in that area, but far be it from him to judge Bahorel’s expertise. He’s just gonna take what he’s given and feel blessed. And kiss Bahorel a bit. Baz makes a soft, happy noise when he’s just been fucked and gets hair scritches or soft kisses on his temple, and Feuilly lives for that noise. He experiments with it a little bit, before it makes them both dissolve into hysterical giggles. 

What does it matter if Bahorel can’t be all his. He makes Bahorel happy, and he’s special. That’s a pretty nice feeling.

It’s perfect. It truly, honestly is. It’s just as easy and comfortable as anything has ever been with them, and Feuilly is so grateful to have this ridiculous boy be his best friend whom he sometimes gets to fuck. Increasingly often, in fact. Like, maybe the others think they’re dating. Feuilly did sort of kiss Bahorel goodbye as they were leaving the Musain one Thursday evening. It was totally an accident, but Baz didn’t seem to mind and blushed adorably and shot Feu his most charming grin, so it’s all good as far as Feuilly is concerned. The others haven’t asked yet, because they know when to mind their own business (except for Courfeyrac, but Feuilly has been avoiding him just a little to avoid any awkward questions so it’s probably fine. If they have any luck, he’s already tried to gossip about it with Enjolras and been shot down with a righteous glare of justice.)

And anyway, what does it matter what anyone thinks. He’s so happy he could burst, happier than he can remember ever having been in his life, and Bahorel seems happy too. More relaxed, somehow. More joyful.

They still drink beer and play Street Fighter on Friday evenings. They still make fun of each other, and Baz still brings Feu coffee to work when it’s too early for any human to be awake and meeting randomly selected members of society. Feuilly still wears Bahorel’s t-shirts - it’s because they’re funny, shut up, the cat is wearing sunglasses and holding pizza in space - but also sometimes for other reasons, reasons like he ended up crashing at Bahorel’s and his t-shirt from the day before has come stains on it. Or that Bahorel’s shirts smell good. Bahorel smells good, shut up, friends can say that about other friends, free yourself from the shackles of your toxic masculinity, Tyler, seriously. 

It’s fine. 

Bahorel seems happy. He’s always been pretty physical with all his friends, but there is something pretty special about getting greeted by him at the door with a kiss and a pat on the ass. It makes Feuilly feel incredibly lucky, that this gorgeous specimen would even look at him twice, never mind give him a shot and come back for more. Not in his wildest dreams would he have imagined pressing a panting Bahorel against the door, kissing him hard and deep and murmuring in his ear all the things he wants to do, only to be responded with a soft whine and a flutter of eyelashes like Bahorel can’t bear it, like this is the hottest thing that’s ever happened to him.

It is to Feuilly, anyway. And Bahorel certainly plays the part, if nothing else. Bahorel, who sucks Feuilly’s cock like it’s the best thing he’s ever been allowed to do. Bahorel who makes soft noises, whines and gasps, when Feuilly touches him in a certain way, nips at his lip, tugs at his hair, holds him down. Bahorel who rests his head in Feuilly’s lap afterwards as they’re sitting on the sofa watching telly, tired but happy, humming with an absent smile as Feuilly attempts to braid his hair. Bahorel who doesn’t seem to get enough of Feuilly, who seems to think he’s the best thing since sliced bread. Bahorel who sees him come in to the Musain and smiles like that’s what he’s been waiting for all day.

Feuilly is maybe just a little bit in love with his best friend. This could be a problem if he let it, but it’s not. It’s lovely, and Bahorel is lovely, charming and fucking hot, and the best dude he knows. None of this needs to be a big deal. Bahorel is happy, and Feuilly keeps pinching himself because he’s not quite sure this is real. That a guy like Bahorel would want him at all. It feels like an extended practical joke sometimes, but then he is reminded of the noises Bahorel makes when Feuilly pins his wrists to the mattress and rides him slow and intense, and he thinks nobody fakes it that well. And so he starts to believe. 

Every time they do it, the sex is better. Feuilly feels less apprehensive and more convinced that Bahorel actually finds him hot. Baz loves it when he gets a bit bossy, and Feuilly finds he likes being a bit bossy when it comes to Bahorel. His messed up hair, dark eyes, mouth slack, whining as Feuilly holds him down and kisses down his neck, teases him, watches. He is so fucking beautiful like that, desperate and greedy and so trusting, open, relaxed. Feuilly will never get bored of it. He kisses Bahorel softly and whispers praise in his ear before nuzzling at his neck, and shivers at the little moan Bahorel lets out. 

They fit. It’s easy, sexy, and wonderful. And yeah, it’s maybe a bit different from how they were before the sex started, but Feuilly isn’t really sure what to do with that information. It’s not a bad thing, as such. Sometimes it’s actually a pretty wonderful thing. And if it sometimes stings that Baz calls him a friend talking to others, that passes quickly after Bahorel shoots him one of those smiles of his that make him feel like the centre of the universe. If this is what it’s like, being friends isn’t so bad at all.

The first time Bahorel says he loves Feuilly is probably an accident. They’re fucking, and it’s an old wisdom not to take anything a man says during sex at face value. Feuilly is fucking Baz from behind, Bahorel’s face pressed against the mattress and his ass in the air. Their fingers are tangled together on the mattress next to Bahorel’s head, and Feuilly has a brief out of body experience as he pounds into Bahorel, watching him squirm and gasp, and he wonders how he ended up here and how beautiful it is. He brings his fingers to Bahorel’s neck and presses into a hickey he’s left there earlier, digs his thumb against the mark and drags his fingernails through Bahorel’s hair and down the back of his neck. Bahorel shivers and whines and gasps a “God I love you” and clenches around Feuilly’s dick in a way that kind of kicks him over the edge and he comes, hard, collapsing on top of Bahorel and panting against his neck before flipping him over and kissing him hard. He takes Bahorel in his hand and starts stroking him roughly, murmuring against his throat “will you come for me, gorgeous boy,” and it really doesn’t take Bahorel very long after that. 

It’s not until a bit later when they’re wrapped around each other, sweaty and sticky and disgusting and completely blissed out, their breathing returning to normal, when Feuilly’s brain catches up with what Bahorel had said. 

He pushes it aside. It’s not a big deal. Bahorel was this close to coming, and having a moment about something Feuilly was doing, so it really doesn’t count. But it lights a warm feeling in Feuilly’s chest either way, and as he holds a limp, sleepy Bahorel in his arms, scratching at his scalp, he can’t help but mouth a silent “I love you too” against Bahorel’s hair. It’s bright blue, freshly dyed. Feuilly absently nuzzles at the top of Bahorel’s head. He’s beautiful, and smells like neon hair dye, sweat and sex. It’s a bit ridiculous, sure, but Feuilly isn’t sure if anything in the world has ever smelled more amazing to him.

The next morning, Feuilly wakes up twice. The first time is when Bahorel gets up and goes to do whatever people do when no sane individual should be awake yet. He makes grabby hands and complains a bit but then lets him go and falls back asleep. He’ll deal with this after midday, even if it means losing his pillow. Life is full of sacrifices.

The second time he wakes up is when Bahorel returns and nudges at him. 

“Morning,” Baz says softly.

Feuilly blinks up at him to see a bright smile and a shower fresh Bahorel with two cups of coffee and wet hair in his face. He reaches a hand to push the hair back a bit before realising what he’s doing and stopping with a blush.

“Hi,” he mumbles and sits up, pushing the duvet aside and taking the coffee Baz is offering him. He suppresses a yawn and sits blinking at Bahorel as being awake catches up with him. “Time is it?”

Baz grins. “Eleven, you useless lump.”

“Too early,” Feu grumbles and sips at his coffee before leaning back against the headboard and resting his head on Bahorel’s shoulder. “You’re evil.”

Baz just laughs softly. “So you keep saying, dude.”

Feuilly makes a fart noise. He’s not totally sold on _dude_ coming from a guy who the night before said he loves him mid-fuck, but it’s too early for him to articulate that in any coherent way, and maybe if he were more awake he wouldn’t want to, anyway. He pushes the dilemma out of his mind. He has coffee and a warm boy to lean against. He’ll drink his coffee and lean against the boy, and in a little while everything will make more sense.

Bahorel watches puppy videos on YouTube, coos at them and shows Feuilly his favourites. This is Feuilly’s favourite way to wake up: with a hot cup of coffee he didn’t have to make himself, with nobody telling him he’s running late or demanding he make intelligent conversation just yet. With Bahorel there, shirtless, laughing at dog videos, not minding that Feuilly leans on him and maybe smells his hair just a little.

Bros do that. Shut up.

They do eventually get up. Bahorel wants to go to the gym before work, and he’s remorselessly throwing Feuilly out on the streets despite his many complaints. He makes breakfast first, though - Feuilly whines about the lack of bacon but Baz just flips him off and puts a bagel in Feuilly’s mouth. Feuilly sputters and falls in love a little bit more. He eats his bagel with a pout and demands more coffee and ruffles at Bahorel’s hair. It’s fun, it’s easy, it’s what he wants. It doesn’t sting that they’re just friends, that it’s really only temporary, that if Bahorel found someone else it could end like that.

He doesn’t like that, he realises suddenly. He’s not liked that thought for some time. And right there, standing in Bahorel’s kitchen in yesterday’s boxers and a stolen t-shirt, holding a half eaten bagel, he suddenly asks himself why he’s not done anything about that before.

“Wanna be boyfriends?” he blurts out to Bahorel, who chokes on his mouthful of bagel as his eyes go all wide and bright with delight.

The coughing goes on for a bit and drags the last of the romance from a situation that Feuilly in retrospect didn’t make quite as romantic as it might have been, but when Bahorel finally manages to choke out a “fuck yeah, thought you’d never ask” and wraps his arms around Feuilly, he decides it doesn’t matter. He hugs back and presses a kiss in Bahorel’s hair and thinks about how this doesn’t really feel so different.

Except it does. He feels warmer. He doesn’t feel like a guest anymore - he’s part of this. He can kiss this boy and say he loves him, and it’s not weird. It’s what people do. Feuilly grins into the crook of Bahorel’s neck and then does just that.

The second time Bahorel says he loves Feuilly is no accident, and the smile that goes with it is brighter than Feuilly has ever seen it.


End file.
